


Until Your Mind Palace Falls Down

by loveanddeathandartandtaxes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/F, Femlock, First Kiss, First Time, Insecure Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-08
Updated: 2015-11-06
Packaged: 2018-04-13 17:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4530198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveanddeathandartandtaxes/pseuds/loveanddeathandartandtaxes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Oh,” John breathed. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and she pushed it back with one hand. There was never a moment where she wasn’t beautiful, Sherlock thought, but possibly a bed-warm John was the most breathtaking. “You don’t know.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kinklock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinklock/gifts).



“I will never get laid again, Sherlock, and it is _all your fault_.”

Looking up from her microscope, Sherlock frowned at her as she stomped into the kitchen.

“Oh please. I’m hardly keeping you from wandering around having as much mediocre sex as you desire.”

“That is… actually exactly what you do, Christ, do you not even realise it? And when I _finally_ meet someone while you’re off being dead swanning around God-knows-where chasing henchmen, you strut back in with your - your eyelashes and your collarbones and now he says he _likes_ you; how about we - no. Never mind. And I’m not even going to reply to the ‘mediocre’ jab.”

“How about we what, John?”

“You can’t deduce it?” She flexed her fingers and grabbed for their bottle of whisky. Sherlock watched her, guessing at the amount of alcohol left in the bottle, and chose not to comment on it.

“He said something that upset you enough to finally break it off with him. Judging by how you’re speaking to me, it had something to do with me. Are further details really necessary?”

Fisting one hand in her hair, John groaned as she took a seat.

“He wants to fuck you, Sherlock! I’m wondering how or when we were going to talk about moving in together, and he’s wondering if we’d be interested in a threesome. So. Never getting laid again because men are jerks and you’re too fucking beautiful for your own good.”

Sherlock wrinkled her nose. It kept tears from springing to her eyes.

“You were going to move out?”

“N- That’s what you heard? _Really_?”

“I -” She could feel her cheeks warming. “I wasn’t going to dignify the other thing with a response. Please don’t move out.”

John sighed, long and slow. “Don’t worry, a trip to Ann Summers and I’ll be right. I’m not leaving you, Sherlock. You’re stuck with me.”

When she was facing away from her, Sherlock allowed herself to murmur a response.

“Good.”


	2. Chapter 2

John spent a few days sulking, and Sherlock accepted any case that came to her, to distract them both. When they discovered the wife and child of their client in a dank basement, John rushed to the injured woman while Sherlock attempted awkwardly to console the son. Catching John’s eye, she flushed when her friend smiled at her, warm and honest.

Much of the night was spent on her violin, first as an accompaniment to filing the case in her mind, and later to soothe John as she tossed and turned in her bedroom above, occasionally crying out in her nightmare. She continued as John abruptly went silent, probably awake. Minutes later, she pretended not to notice John pad into the room and nestle into her chair.

As she trailed off at the end of a song, John cleared her throat.

“You know I love you, right?” She said it quietly, but Sherlock still felt pierced to the core.

“Of course,” she replied, holding the bow poised over the strings as she decided what to play next. “I heard what you said at my gravestone, and - I feel... the same. You’re my best friend.” A smile spread itself across her face, forced but still real.

“Oh,” John breathed. Her hair was mussed from sleep, and she pushed it back with one hand. There was never a moment where she wasn’t beautiful, Sherlock thought, but possibly a bed-warm John was the most breathtaking. “You don’t know.”

Sherlock frowned. “What don’t I know? I should - I want to know everything about you.”

John bit her lip and ducked her head, but when she looked up through her lashes at Sherlock she was smiling.

“I love you,” she said again. Her voice was level. “I’m _in_ love with you. Have been for ages. I thought you knew, so I never - I tried to just get on with it.”

Her violin. She needed to put her violin down before she dropped it.

“John.”

When the ear is hit by sound waves, the eardrum vibrates, nudging the hammer, anvil, and stirrup into motion, which then pushes against the oval window of the cochlea. This movement sends the perilymph inside the cochlea swirling around its bony labyrinth. The pressure waves exerted by the liquid are registered by hair cells within the organ of Corti, and these cells communicate with cochlear nerve fibres that send signals to the brain to be translated into noises. Sherlock considered that one of these many steps had been compromised and that she had misheard John.

“Sherlock? You alright? You know you’re saying stuff about the inner ear out loud, right.”

“But-” she couldn’t think. “But you keep finding boyfriends. You were going to move in with Mark.”

“God, Sherlock, I thought I didn’t have a chance with you, so yeah, I was making do. But it’s you, really. You’re it, for me. No-one else comes close.”

Reaching towards John, Sherlock realised her hand was trembling. Her knees shook as well.

“Sherlock?”

John was looking at her with her brow crinkled up, and eventually circled her fingers around Sherlock’s wrist, bringing her hand the last few inches to rest against her cheek, vibrating with disbelief.

“You… I want to say. I need to tell you. I. John.”

“Yeah?”

Speechless, Sherlock nodded.

“Yeah, okay. I’m still tired, and I bet you are too. Shall we… go to bed?”

“Together?” She sounded winded.

“Preferably, yeah.”

“Yeah.”


	3. Chapter 3

John slept, snoring quietly as she sprawled on Sherlock’s mattress, but Sherlock spent most of the night watching her, awed. She let herself drift, torn between curling into John’s side, soft in relaxed repose, and cataloguing her breathing rate and REM.

Sleep took her eventually, and she woke to John’s fingers (short, dextrous) brushing her hair from her face.

“You need a haircut,” John smiled.

“Don’t,” she griped, but her heart was in her mouth, not in the retort.

“Well. Last time, you had it cut just so around your jaw? I wanted to pin you up against the wall and kiss you there until your knees gave out.” She pressed a finger gently against Sherlock’s lips, pulled the lower down a little. “Want to kiss you now, actually.”

“But I need a haircut,” Sherlock said, stupidly.

John giggled, and Sherlock felt warmth bloom through her torso.

“Still want to.”

“Okay.” She inched a hand out, touched John’s shoulder. Then John leaned in closer, touched Sherlock’s mouth with her own. When their lips slid against each other, Sherlock wondered if she shouldn’t be as fascinated as she was with the sensation.

“John,” she whispered, to do something. Her lips grazed John’s skin.

“You alright? This okay?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, and John took advantage of her open mouth, then; a brief flicker of her tongue electrified Sherlock.

Recognising she should be more involved, she pressed forward, and John smiled against her and pulled away.

“Morning breath,” she explained, remorseful.

“Don’t care. I love you.”

“Oh... my God. Of _course_ that’s how you say it first.”

“I do!”

“I know. Come on, a cup of tea and some toast and jam, and I’ll kiss you until your mind palace falls down.”

“Promises, promises,” Sherlock grinned, rolling out of bed.


	4. Chapter 4

John was unable to make good on her promise, as Greg texted while they ate breakfast. She read the message, frowned, and spun the phone across the table to Sherlock.

“Looks interesting. Shall we?”

Sherlock shoveled muesli into her mouth and shook her head.

“But…”

“You said, John.”

Giggling, John took her phone back and started pecking out a reply.

“I can kiss you when you’re done being brilliant.” She caught Sherlock’s eye, and Sherlock felt her cheeks heat at the intent in her gaze.

 

* * *

 

Greg opened and shut his mouth only a few times when they arrived at the scene, John’s fingers tangled decisively around Sherlock’s.

“Let’s get this over with, then; Sally might have an aneurysm if we take too long here.”

 

The corpse told Sherlock as much as they always did, and John grumbled good-naturedly and kept a lookout while Sherlock broke into the victim’s boyfriend’s house.

“Actually, is kissing off-limits while you’re working?”

“Mmm?”

“Oh, well. I like it when you’re clever.”

Sherlock frowned a little.

“I’m always clever.”

“I know.”

She glanced away from the lock for a second, and John grinned down at her, unashamed. Turning back to her task, she smiled.

“Once I get us inside, then.”

 

The boyfriend, it turned out once they got inside and snogged against the front door a little, was innocent, but his flatmate was not. He proved slightly elusive, but ended up face-down in Debenhams’ Christmas display, one arm pinned behind his back by John. She glowed with satisfaction, and Sherlock had to compose herself before alerting Lestrade to their whereabouts.

“We should pick up presents while we’re here,” John said, but Sherlock sneered at the suggestion. John glanced at her and huffed a laugh.

“Yeah, I know. I’ll come do it later.”

“Home,” Sherlock declared.

Still warm from their chase, they decided to walk the mile or so back to Baker Street. John bought a kebab for dinner that Sherlock stole large bites of, and when she got sauce on her mouth John kissed it away. When they finally finished eating and their hands were free, Sherlock pulled John against her and tried to get her fingers on John’s skin.

“Oi, stop that,” laughed John. “Your hands are bloody freezing. Wait til we get inside.”

Sherlock nodded and paced off, and John chased after her, still giggling.

“Madwoman,” she said affectionately, pressing a firm kiss to her jaw and taking her hand. “Come on.”

 

* * *

 

They fell over twice getting up the stairs.

 

* * *

 

When they were both somehow down to knickers and bras, John asked her “What do you like?”

“I like you,” she replied, reverently touching John’s biceps and collarbones.

“Idiot,” John berated, smiling. “I like you too. I mean, what do you like in bed. How do I make you come?”

“Oh.”

“Mm? I’m good for pretty much anything, Sherlock.”

“Ah, just… the… normal - Anything, John, I’ll like it.”

John’s hands went still on her ribs, where they had been stroking her skin, occasionally sliding over her bra to dip underneath the fabric, just a bit. John kissed her again, a welcome wet slide of lips and tongue.

“Sherlock.”

“John?”

“Have you done this before? I don’t mind either way, I just… want to know.”

Sherlock could almost picture John taking her by the hand and gently, devastatingly, introducing her to Sex, and wished for a second that she _was_ a virgin, or that she could lie when John had a hand on her bare thigh. Her thumb swiped over the skin, reassuring.

“Yes, just - some time ago now.”

“Okay. Alright. Well. How about you show me what you like, then?”

She blinked hard for a moment, and slid her hand towards John’s knickers.

“Mm, no. Show me on you. Show me how you make yourself come.”

“Will you -”

“Yeah, I’ll show you, too. Probably tell you more than you want to know about me,” John grinned.

“Impossible.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

The first thing she became aware of when she woke was something tickling her temple and cheek, and she smiled. Opening her eyes she could see John nestled into her bed, reaching a hand out from under the duvet to touch her skin. Sherlock was struck by the notion that this could be her future, many mornings starting like this. She pulled John’s hand to her mouth and kissed her fingertips.

“I’ve been awake for a bit,” John whispered, “and I’m just... awestruck by how beautiful and vulnerable you look when you’re asleep, with your… inky curls, you know, fanning out all haphazardly.”

“Poet,” Sherlock murmured in accusation. John’s fingers circled her chin and traced down her throat. They skated over her breasts to her stomach, but at Sherlock’s bitten-off whine John grinned widely, returning to tease her nipples. When Sherlock could no longer keep her breathing even, John kissed her shoulder and continued mapping Sherlock’s body with her fingertips. She tugged the duvet back in increments and Sherlock watched John notice a wave of gooseflesh ripple across Sherlock’s skin.

“God,” she breathed. Rolling onto all fours, she shuffled down on the bed until she curled up over Sherlock’s thighs, and began to graze her nails through the curly hair between her legs.

“Sherlock, sshh, it’s okay.”

“I’m not-” she started to say, but stopped as she realised she _had_ been making noises: wordless, breathy moans. Quirking her mouth into a smile, Sherlock huffed a small laugh. John chuckled in reply and pressed a quick kiss to one thigh, then the other.

“John,”

“Time for breakfast,” she quipped, and Sherlock’s answering laugh turned into a gasp when John laved her tongue over her, soft and wet. Sucking kisses dotted across her hips bloomed waves of sensation. Her eyes were shut, Sherlock realised, and her hands teasing at her own nipples.

“John.”

“You good?” John checked, kissing right over her clit, too light, and licked at the sensitised skin at the crease of her legs when Sherlock’s hips tried to buck against her.

“Please.”

“Mmhmm.”

John returned to kissing at her clit, pushing her face into Sherlock, and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Then her hand took over, steady and sure, rubbing, sliding between her legs, pressing between to touch her, gentle and direct.

Spreading her knees, Sherlock canted her hips up. With a giggle, John put her mouth on her again, nipping and sucking her inner folds between firm wriggles of her tongue against her clit. When she replaced her mouth with her hand, she turned her head to place a sweet kiss to Sherlock’s thigh.

“Can I…” John trailed off, rubbing fingers meaningfully over her entrance. Chest heaving, Sherlock nodded. She could feel herself blush harder as John smeared her slickness around, before easing a single finger into her. Then she (gently, devastatingly) took Sherlock apart.

Sherlock’s hands were on herself, stroking John’s hair, pushing her own hair back, grabbing the sheets, shaking in the air as she thought about pushing John’s head away. She tried watching her, but John caught her gaze and held it brazenly until she had to bite her lip and close her eyes once more. Two fingers, now, were inside her, coaxing her higher and higher as John’s tongue pushed her closer to the edge. She was whimpering, biting her knuckles, thrashing her head. John didn’t seem to mind, though, murmuring encouragement and endearments whenever her mouth was free. Soon - back arching, fists clenching - shuddering, spinning - there, there, there, too much - _John_.

She was still breathless and oversensitive and quaking against John’s fingers, hands caught in the air above her, when John started to giggle, a low murmur of happiness. Her head was still between Sherlock’s shaking thighs, and she kissed them gently, her hand pressing flat against her clit to coax out another few pulses.

“Come on, love, you’re so gorgeous,” she crooned, and Sherlock grinned even as she brought her own hand down to stop John. Then John crawled up the length of her body and kissed her again, on the mouth, rather less gently. John tasted like her.

“I loved that,” John admitted happily, and Sherlock beamed back at her.

“Shouldn’t that be my line?”

John shrugged and kissed her again.

“Don’t care. Love you. Loved that.”

“Let me, for you?”

“You don’t have to,” John assured her, but the roll of her hips against Sherlock’s bony frame was answer enough. She knelt back, allowing Sherlock to sit up and press a kiss to the ruined skin around John’s shoulder.

“Don’t tease me, yeah? I just want to come from your mouth. I like it pretty hard.”

Sherlock gestured for John to lie down, and settled over her. John had spent the whole of the previous day and night with her, and Sherlock loved the smell of her – across her breastbone, under her arms, between her legs – mixed in with herself and arousal. She lapped gently at her, just to taste.

“Don’t tease,” John murmured absently. “Come on, please, love.”

She covered John with her mouth and set to work loving John with lips and tongue, as directly as she dared. John _laughed_ again and writhed against her.

“Oh fuck, Sherlock, that’s good.”

Mumbling a response garnered a very particular reaction from John, so she did it a second time.

“A-actually, love, can you? Two – two fingers, do it.”

She was sopping, and Sherlock pushed in smoothly. Hooking her fingers to press against John’s g-spot as she ate her out, it wasn’t long before John began to gasp out her orgasm, holding Sherlock’s head close. When John ground down harder against her hand and mouth, Sherlock hazarded a guess as to what she might like. Rather than stopping or pulling away to let John come down gently, she wrapped an arm around John’s thigh to hold her close and sucked harder, worked her fingers faster, and kept going as John gripped her wrist, panting.

“Sh - Sherlo - ah! Ye- God, I - sh-”

Her back arched, and jerkily she got herself propped up on her elbows. Sherlock reveled in the wetness against her face; it was smeared everywhere. John stiffened, falling still apart from her chest hitching as she gulped in air and her sex contracting around Sherlock’s fingers. When she collapsed back against the mattress, Sherlock gentled her movements, continuing to kiss her, but no longer so mercilessly. John’s gasps curled into breathless chuckles, and she caressed Sherlock’s arm. Sherlock meandered up John’s body as she combed her hair away from Sherlock’s face.

“C’mere.”

Sherlock hovered over John until John pulled her down, forehead to forehead. They breathed each other’s air, smiles stealing across their faces.

“Christ, what was that?” John asked eventually. “I feel like that was payback for something, and I need to know what it was so I can do it more often.”

Biting her lip, Sherlock looked away. Even with what they had just shared, she hesitated to tell John.

“I just-”

“Don’t lie to me, Sherlock. Not now.”

“I need you to stay,” she told the wallpaper. “I had to be better than… all of _them_.”

John’s face wrinkled in confusion and fell in understanding.

“Oh, love, no. I’ve made you feel like that. You are. Without any of that - that _amazing_ sex - you are better.”

Sherlock sagged in relief against her, and felt, more than heard, John laugh once more.

“You _were_ right, though. Everyone else was pretty mediocre.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> [(on tumblr)](http://loveanddeathandartandtaxes.tumblr.com/post/132819141220/until-your-mind-palace-falls-down)


End file.
